


The Accident

by wheel_pen



Series: Daisy [29]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 13:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon and Daisy witness a fatal car accident. “So, we can have life-affirming sex now, if you want.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Accident

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daisy, my original character, moved to Mystic Falls about a year ago. There is something special about her.
> 
> 2\. This series begins with the first season of the TV show and completely diverges about halfway through the first season. Facts revealed later on the show might not make it into this series.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This series may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

            “The next time I suggest going to an island with _no people on it_ , just slap me,” Damon muttered in frustration, his knuckles white as he clutched the steering wheel. “I’m _starving_.”

            So was I. Three days in a rental house on a tiny island in the off-season had seemed like a good idea at the time—especially when Damon compelled the owner to sign a waiver releasing us from responsibility for any damages—but the isolation turned out to be a little wearing for someone who needed to feed on people. Although watching Damon attempt to catch and eat a seagull had been pretty funny.

            “There’s a truck stop up ahead,” I pointed out, and he went for it.

            “Ooh, a grizzled old trucker. Yum,” he remarked, seemingly serious.

            “I hope I can get a salad or something,” I commented, trying to deduce what sort of place it was. Quiet, a little run-down, teetering on the line between ‘satisfyingly dull’ and ‘dead end despair.’ It seemed promising. “I am… really hungry,” I added, the fatigue hitting me as I prepared myself to face the public after several hours relaxing in the car.

            “This doesn’t look like a salady place,” he warned me, “unless you want it deep-fried. I hope they have beer at least. They have to have beer. It’s a truck stop.”

            We pulled into a parking spot in the nearly deserted lot—it was an odd time of day and there weren’t too many customers. Damon was right about the likely menu; this place didn’t look like it served too many vegetables, unless they were smothered in gravy or cooked down to mush.

            I reached for the door handle and a wave of nausea and dizziness hit me. “What’s wrong?” Damon asked.

            “Just a little carsick, I think.”

            He was standing outside opening my door for me in an instant. “Outta the car,” he ordered protectively—of the car.

            I stood slowly, leaning on the door frame and chiding myself for not attending to my meals more diligently—I should have prepared better, I knew how bad I felt when I hadn’t eaten for a while. I was light-headed and having trouble focusing, which was never good. In such a mood I was likely to make impulsive choices, grab the first thing I could find to eat no matter how ill-advised.

            I heard two vehicles coming down the highway near us, going in opposite directions, and my gaze was drawn to them. A car and a minivan. Humans weren’t really meant to operate such powerful motor vehicles. They didn’t have the reflexes, the focus. It was so easy for them to drift into the wrong lane, so easy not to realize what had happened until it was too late.

            I understood that the vehicles were going collide, watching them as if in slow motion. The sickening force of the impact snapped the world back into normal time so hard I staggered.

            “Holy s—t,” said Damon, with mild surprise. Then the scent of the blood hit him and he gasped, turning away from the people rushing out of the diner as his face involuntarily contorted into its vampiric mask. He buried his face in his arms on the car as if in agony over the accident—which he was, just not in the same way as the sobbing and swearing waitresses and truck drivers.

            “Go,” I told him. “Into the woods. I’ll meet you later.” He nodded once and disappeared.

 

            A couple hours later I was wandering through the woods alone, carrying some plastic bags from the diner, when Damon jumped out at me. “It’s not very nice to scare me like that,” I chastised, once I had swallowed my heart.

            He grinned wolfishly, far more at ease than he had been the last time I saw him. “But _so_ much fun! Did you get food?”

            I lifted the bags. “Yes, and some for the road. I also got—“

            “Ooh, beer, awesome,” he declared, popping the cap off a bottle. “They let you buy this?”

            I shrugged. “Everyone was really distracted after the accident. I had to start with some chips from the gift shop until the kitchen reopened. I tried to call you,” I added apologetically.

            “No reception out here,” he told me, nodding accusingly at the trees.

            “I guess you found something to eat, too?”

            “Yeah, it was like a—“ He gestured vaguely with his hands. “—a bobcat or something. Carnivores taste better than squirrels, at least.”

            The forest was starting to thin out a little and Damon could no doubt hear the sounds of civilization ahead of us. “Is that mess all cleared up?” he asked, unconcerned about the jolted and shattered lives at the truck stop.

            “I think we’ll be able to get out,” I replied. “They were taking down the roadblock when I came to find you.”

            He gave me a sideways glance, curious and a little hesitant. It was not in him to feel compassion for the general populace anymore. I understood. It would be like feeling compassion for cows when you could only eat hamburgers—or perhaps more accurately, when you could only eat hamburgers _or_ wilted lettuce. Stefan went with general compassion and wilted lettuce. Damon went with hamburgers and a calloused heart. Sometimes I wondered which of them came up with an idea first, so the other could choose the opposite.

            But even a lover of hamburgers could have a few pet cows he favored. I realized I had just compared myself to a cow, complete with some romantic imagery I didn’t think Damon would appreciate, and I smiled suddenly.

            He smirked in response without knowing why. “What?”

            “Nothing,” I told him, slipping my hand into his. “I had a good time this weekend.”

            Now that we were both sated it was easier to appreciate our little retreat. The solitude offered a certain amount of freedom that even a distant hotel or Damon’s well-insulated apartment couldn’t match. And although a good part of the trip had been spent doing exactly what other people imagined we were doing, we had also just… talked a lot.

            The flash of police car and ambulance lights through the trees grabbed Damon’s attention again, turning his mind back to the question he’d been forming a moment ago. “Sorry I left you,” he opened, testing the waters.

            I shrugged. “It’s fine. You had to.” He stared at me a moment longer, trying to figure out how to ask me if I was okay after witnessing the accident. It was sweet and I waited patiently, not wanting to ruin his effort.

            “So, we can have life-affirming sex now, if you want,” he offered casually. “This might be a good place, before we get out in the open with all the traffic. I know how shy you are.”

            I did not do a good job swallowing my smirk. “Life-affirming sex with a dead person would be…” I mocked lightly.

            “The life and death cancel each other out,” he determined, “so it becomes regular, spectacular sex with no hidden emotional burden.”

            “Emotional burdens are so awkward, aren’t they?”

            “Like a stain on your favorite jacket,” he agreed carelessly.

            “A washable stain, though,” I checked, “not a permanent one.” He looked at me and nodded slowly; we understood one another.

            “So tell me about the accident,” he demanded in a lighter tone. “I want to tell Stefan and make him cry.”

            “Vampire tears sound like a rare commodity,” I quipped. “What are they worth on the black market?”

            “Well, the ancient Chinese used them to cure paper cuts,” he deadpanned.

            “And now we have Neosporin,” I observed. “So, not much, huh?” He reacted to my joke, then waited to see if I was just avoiding his question. “The minivan had two adults and three children,” I reported clinically, “and the car had four teenagers.” We were close enough now to see the remains of the wreckage being photographed by the police as a tow truck hovered nearby.

            “Survivors?” he asked with mild interest.

            “A teenage girl, and the mother of the children.”

            Damon processed this for a second, then shrugged. “S—ks to be human,” he commented, in the same tone most people reserved for a soggy newspaper or burned bagel.

            We reached the car and climbed in, tucking the beer bottles under my seat out of view. “A woman’s grief is sweeter than a man’s,” I said unexpectedly as we pulled out of the parking lot past the crumpled vehicles.

            Damon gave me an odd look. “Is that poetry?” he asked. “Because you need to work on your delivery.” A police officer waved us along and we eased onto the highway, leaving the truck stop and the accident scene far in the distance.


End file.
